I'm Not That Girl
by listrant
Summary: Janine plays matchmaker.
1. Chapter 1

Molly practically ran out the doors and down the steps outside of Bart's. She needed this holiday badly. Desperately. After the dissolution of her engagement, she needed some time to get away and figure out why it didn't work out. What she really wanted.

Three blissful days to herself in a lovely cottage in the Irish countryside. She'd read novels, sunbathe, eat ice cream, take long walks, even longer baths, and sleep. Ah the sleep. Perhaps she wouldn't leave the big bed with that comfy looking patchwork quilt for three days. It was tempting.

She couldn't keep the smile off her face as she picked up her bags at her flat and made her way to the airport.

* * *

Janine caught the boutonniere Sherlock threw to her and, just out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the way the petite brunette beside her's face fell at the action. The girl's heartbroken face was in stark contrast to the cheery yellow of her dress and fascinator. At first Janine was puzzled, but then she followed the line of her gaze.

Oh.

With a flush of embarrassment, Janine realized she'd made a mistake.

She turned to the woman beside her. "I'm sorry, I hadn't realized. Is there something going on between you two?" she asked quietly, gesturing towards the detective.

"What? Oh…no…god no," the woman shook her head back and forth violently. "I'm here with somebody else. I'm engaged. We're very happy," she added, inclining her head towards a dopey looking man standing next to an older lady Janine recalled being introduced to as Sherlock and John's landlady.

"Oh…then you don't mind if I?" Janine asked again.

"No. No, of course not. Go ahead. May the force be with you."

At the time, Janine had taken Molly Hooper's words at face value. People hear what they want to hear and she wanted to believe that the exciting Mr. Holmes was free.

But later, during that whirlwind month they spent together, there were undeniable signs.

The first was a whispered word from the darkness beside her at 3 am. (Though they'd never been intimate, Sherlock often let her sleep in his bed. He usually wasn't in it anyway. But occasionally the exhaustion would overtake him and she'd wake up beside him…sometimes even wrapped in his arms. At the time she chalked it up to affection, now she realized it had only been reflex.)

Janine didn't know who "Molly" was, so she'd asked Mrs. Hudson one day on her way out.

"Oh that's just the sweet little pathologist at that hospital…surely you met her at the wedding? Cute as a button in a canary-colored dress?" The older woman had replied.

"Ah…yes…"

"She helps him with his cases…don't how she can bare to be around him in that state…" Mrs. Hudson trailed off on one of her typical streams of complaints over Sherlock's erratic behavior.

Mrs. Hudson's choice of words, "sweet little pathologist" and "cute as a button" didn't make Molly Hooper sound like much of a threat to her newfound relationship. And it seemed natural enough that Sherlock would murmur in his sleep the name of someone he frequently worked with. Janine brushed it off.

Then one morning after she'd stayed over she realized she forgot to stick her hairbrush in her bag. She'd have to borrow his. She yanked open the top bureau drawer and began rifling through it…with hair like that he must have something.

She was just closing the drawer again when she realized that her finger tips had brushed over something smooth as she'd pushed aside some socks. A comb? She pulled it back open and repeated the motion.

It was a photograph. A photograph of Sherlock and Molly Hooper. Obviously taken when neither of subjects was paying attention to the photographer…she was staring at him with an exasperated (and yet affectionate) smile while he smirked down at her. She knew it was wrong, but Janine brushed aside a few more pairs of socks.

Beside the photograph was a little white gift box…inside it held only tissue paper. But underneath that was a little tag attached to a ribbon. It had clearly been wrapped around the box.

_Dearest Sherlock, xxx Molly_

Odd that he should keep that. But the final item buried under the black socks was the most damning: a white cloth napkin…like one might use for a dinner party, smudged with red lipstick.

A man just didn't keep something like that unless… At least, Janine realized that now. And that was why, when she received that message on craigslist from Molly Hooper, asking to let her cottage for a few days, she knew what must be done.

"You owe me, Sherl," she found herself saying into her mobile a few days later. "You know you do."

"I'm happy to help Janine, but I fail to see why I need to travel all the way to Ireland to do so. I'm able to easily solve 73% of cases right here from the flat. Just tell me what's going on."

"No…" She answered, trying to inject as much anxiety into her voice as possible. "I can't…I can't explain it over the phone. Please, Sherl. I know you haven't got another case right now. Mary told me."

"You're still friends with Mary?" Sherlock asked in surprise.

Janine snorted. "I'm still friends with you, aren't I?"

"Point taken."

There was a pregnant pause.

"Are you going to help me or not, Sherl?"

"What was the address again?"

* * *

Molly hummed along to the soft music playing as she moved around the small bathroom, preparing for a nice long soak in the large Jacuzzi tub. A bit of an unusual choice for what was otherwise a quaint country cottage, but she wasn't complaining. Getting out of town amidst rush hour traffic had been stressful, and the first order of business was a relaxing bath.

Candles, check. Music, check. Bubble bath, check. Book, check. Chocolates, check. And water proof vibrator (just in case), check.

She stripped and slipped into the warm water.

Ten minutes later she'd gotten to the first sex scene in her novel and was just reaching for the vibe when there was a loud pounding sound. It took her a few seconds to realize it was a knock at the door.

She ignored it, surely they'd just give up after a few minutes and go away.

The pounding continued. And continued. And continued.

"FINE! I'm coming! FINE!" she shouted, dripping all over the place as she stood and wrapped a large bath towel around herself. She sighed as she noticed the little trail of water and suds she was leaving on her way to the front door. When she reached it, she flipped the lock and jerked it open in annoyance.

"Yes?!" Her heavily ingrained manners wouldn't let her be any ruder than that, although she definitely want to be.

They gasped each other's names in the same instant, both jumping slightly.

"What are you doing here?!" Molly accused when she finally found her breath. If he thought he could drag her back to Bart's to pull out a body for him, he had another thing coming.

"Where's Janine?" Sherlock asked, with an equal measure of annoyance.

"Your ex-girlfriend Janine? Why would she be here?"

"She's not my ex-girlfriend."

"Tell that to The Sun, and The Inquirer, and The T-"

"Were you in the bath?"

"Yes…well I just got here and the tub is-," Molly hated the way she felt the need to explain herself and then she couldn't decide on a comeback. "Is bathing illegal in Ireland? That's none of your business."

"You're alone?"

Molly felt her face burn. Of course, her ipod would pick this exact moment to play the most embarrassing song possible.

"That is _definitely_ none of your business," she bit out, with as much dignity as someone who'd been caught listening to "Hungry Eyes" from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack could possibly muster.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I meant, Janine's not here?"

"Oh. No."

Sherlock ducked back to glance at the number beside the door again.

"I'm…I've let this place for the weekend…on holiday."

"I see," Sherlock picked his bag up where he'd dropped it on the ground and gestured for Molly to move over so he could come in.

"No," Molly extended her arm across the door frame. "You're _not_ staying."

"I'm afraid I don't have a choice. There won't be another ferry until morning."

The fact that this cottage was isolated from the rest of civilization by being on the far side of a large lake had seemed like a perk when she'd let it. Now Molly was kicking herself for not staying in a hotel like everybody else.

Still, she held her ground, glaring up at the beautiful bastard in front of her.

Sherlock groaned. "Molly who'd you let this cottage from?"

"I…I don't know it was all done from craigslist and email. They signed everything J.H."

"Naturally, she did. Janine Hanigan."

Molly just raised her brows questioningly.

"I think my _ex_, as you've deemed her, is playing a little joke on me…us. She's apparently still not over my pretending to care for her to gain information about her boss. She asked me to come here and help her solve a case. I didn't think…I knew that she had a cottage in Ireland."

"Oh." Molly could see the genuine remorse in his eyes, even though his tone was sardonic.

"And now, I'm afraid we're stuck with each other for the night. It's no big deal. I've stayed at your flat dozens of times. I'll sleep on the sofa. Just do exactly what you'd be doing if I wasn't here."

Molly thought of her vibrator and bit her lip as she moved aside to let him in. _Sure. Exactly what she'd be doing if he wasn't here._

* * *

_This will be a short multi-chapter (Probably 3 or 4 Parts). _


	2. Chapter 2

"Just go back to your bath. You won't even know I'm here," Sherlock said once they were in the hallway.

"Alright," she said, faking enthusiasm. She clicked off her ipod as she passed by it on the side table.

She'd just made it to the bathroom when she heard the music start up again and Sherlock call out. "No need to turn it off on my account, Molly. I don't want to spoil your holiday."

"Alright," she called back, unable to keep the strain out of her voice.

The water was cold.

"I'll just masturbate here in the bath with romantic music playing while the man of my sexual fantasies sits in the next room," she muttered under her breath as she drained and refilled the tub.

"Did you say something, Molly?" Sherlock called.

_Great. Paper thin walls. _

"No, nothing!" she replied.

* * *

Try as she might to not think about Sherlock, it wasn't long before Molly was throwing in the proverbial towel on the relaxing bath idea. It just wasn't going to happen.

She realized with horror that she'd have to pass through the sitting room to get back to the bedroom, and that the only towel she'd brought into the bathroom was now soaked through.

She crept into the hall. Maybe he was in his mind palace and he wouldn't even notice her.

Glancing around the corner, she saw he was on his laptop. In that moment his head snapped up and he saw her head poking around the wall.

"Oh hello, Moll, Did you enjoy your bath?"

"Oh..uh huh. It was great. Yep. Thanks for asking." She hesitated.

Sherlock continued to stare at her.

"I..uhm…the bedroom's just through there."

"Oh…go right ahead," he gestured to the doorway on the far side of the room from her. "Don't mind me. You won't disturb me at all."

"Mk." She continued to hesitate.

"Is there a problem?" Sherlock finally asked.

"No. Nope." She forced herself to step out into the light and cross in front of him over to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

* * *

Once she had her pajamas on…a little camisole and panties (she'd assumed she'd be alone the whole weekend and they made her feel pretty), she realized she wanted a snack. She'd brought food with her, but that of course meant passing by Sherlock again.

She could get redressed. But that would seem weird, like she was self-conscious in front of him. Which she was, but he didn't need to know that.

She hadn't brought a robe…she'd always lived alone and they seemed unnecessary. Finally she threw a hoodie on over the top and stepped out into the sitting room.

Sherlock had removed his jacket and shoes and socks and replaced them with a soft camel dressing gown. Molly realized that now that the sun had set, it was rather chilly in the room.

Noticing her shiver as she entered, Sherlock jumped up from the sofa and pulled off the dressing gown.

"Are you cold? Here, take this, I don't need it," he urged.

"No, it's alright, I'm fine."

"No, you're cold. Please, take it," Sherlock insisted.

"Why are you being so nice?" Molly asked as she took the garment.

Sherlock paused and bit his lip before answering. "I know that I'm ruining your holiday, Molly," he said.

"No, you're-" she began out of politeness.

"Don't try to deny it. This is the kind of place you go when you want to be alone."

Molly quickly pulled on the dressing gown. "Well…look how cold I'd be if you weren't here," she said with a wan smile.

"Yes," he replied lamely. "And I'll be gone first thing in the morning," he assured her.

"Yes…good…that's good."

* * *

Molly wouldn't let herself think about how amazing the dressing gown smelled. How she never wanted to take it off. No, she was going to eat this biscuit instead of thinking about that.

She came back into the sitting room with the bag of biscuits and two glasses of milk in her hand to find that Sherlock had started a fire in the fire place.

"Wow, that was fast," she mumbled around a mouthful of cookie.

Sherlock chuckled. "Don't give me too much credit. This is Janine's house. The fireplace is gas lit."

"Oh…" Molly smiled. "You want a biscuit?"

Sherlock looked at her strangely. "No. Thank you."

"Well," Molly set one of the glasses and a few biscuits on the coffee table in front of him. "If you change your mind."

Molly left the door open this time. She opened her book and tried to read. 20 minutes later she was back in the doorway looking at Sherlock on his laptop.

"Do you want to play a game?" she asked.

"What?"

"I just feel like it…surely Janine has some board games stashed somewhere. Except no cluedo. You have an unfair advantage."

Sherlock snorted and Molly wished for the millionth time in her life that he was less attractive. "You'd be surprised.

Molly turned to look over the shelves and cabinets on either side of the mantel. Not a board game in sight.

"Truth or dare?" she suggested.

"I…if it would make you happy."

"Yes," Molly sunk down beside him on the sofa.

"Truth or dare?" she asked.

"Truth."

"I notice you've not changed. What do you wear to bed usually?"

"Nothing. Truth or dare?" Sherlock didn't seem to realize the way his answer had affected her since he moved on so quickly.

"Dare."

"I know that you're an amateur artist. Show me a piece of your art."

"You've already seen…your Christmas gift…"

"Yes, I know. Something else."

"Alright." Molly went into the bedroom and found her sketchbook, grateful that there was something in there that wasn't him. She flipped to the sketch of Mary and John's young daughter and carried it out to him.

"This is amazing," Sherlock murmured as he looked it over. "Why are you so secretive about it?"

Molly shrugged. "Artists are a dime a dozen."

"As are violinists."

She shrugged again and pulled the book from his hands, closing it. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Again?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I have nothing to hide, but I'd rather not run around the cabin naked or fill my mouth with biscuits."

"Were the things that Janine said in the papers true?"

"No."

"Did you have sex?" Molly didn't know what was making her so bold.

"That's two questions, but no. Truth or dare?"

"Dare."

"Kiss me," he said simply.

"What?"

"Kiss me. Open mouth. Tongue."

"I heard what you said, it's just…" Molly's face scrunched up.

"That is the point of truth or dare. To make each other do outrageous things or tell secrets. You picked dare. What's the problem? It's just a kiss." He was so calm. His usual straightforward self.

Molly cleared her throat. "Yeah. Ok. Fine."

She took a deep breath. Her eyes drifted against her will down to V of skin exposed by the open top button of his shirt. She jerked them back up and then came in too fast, anxious to get it over with.

Their lips mashed together uncomfortably hard and Molly started to pull away, but stopped when she felt Sherlock's hands on her waist. But he didn't move the kiss along any farther. He was going to force HER to kiss HIM, like he'd asked.

She tilted her head and pretended it was anyone but him. When her lips separated, his own willfully followed suit and her tongue made a quick sweep over his.

It was the most awkward kiss she'd had since the age of sixteen. And the most exciting.

Out of air, she had to pull away briefly, but then she angled her head the other way and quickly repeated the first kiss.

Then she jerked away. "There. Your turn. Truth or Dare."

Sherlock licked his lips and smirked. "Dare."

"Shove as many biscuits in your mouth as you can.

"You're really awful at this game," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes as he reached for the bag. He made it to 7.

"Oh…no…it was worth a turn to see that!" Molly gasped out between giggles as he went to the kitchen to spit them out in the bin a few minutes later. It was refreshing to see the normally so cool and composed man in such a ridiculous circumstance.

"Truth or dare?" he asked as he returned, sipping a glass of water.

"Dare."

"Say Truth next time."

"You can't do that. You can't dare someone to say truth."

"I don't remember seeing a rule book for this game," he argued.

"Fine. You wasted a turn. Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Were you in love with that Adler woman?" Molly noticed after the fact that her voice was breathless.

Sherlock paused. "Yes. In a way, I think I _was_." He shook his head slightly. "In so much as the phrase 'in love' has any concrete meaning, which I'd argue it doesn't," he qualified.

The hiss of the fireplace was the only sound. Molly shifted and looked down at the soft sofa cushions they were seated on. They were flower patterned.

"I guess I don't need to ask," Sherlock finally said. "You're picking truth this time. So truth: What are you so afraid that I'll ask?"

Molly stared back at him for a moment then jumped up. "I'm tired. I give up. You win I guess. Goodnight." She rushed to the bedroom and slammed the door.

* * *

The room was filled with the golden glow of the sun when Molly woke up still wearing Sherlock's dressing gown (what he didn't know wouldn't hurt her).

She heard the tinkling of metal from the kitchen and the intermittent sound of running water. Oh Christ, was Sherlock cooking? She rushed to get dressed, throwing on a pair of jeans and a comfortable jumper before bolting into the kitchen. Upon entering the room, she was presented with a tantalizing view of the detective's backside as he bent over to stare into the tiny fridge.

"My god, Molly, did you bring anything _remotely_ nutritious? Three tubs of Ice cream and not a single vegetable in sight?" Sherlock made an exaggerated "tsk tsk" noise. "I'm surprised you even had eggs," he added and Molly's attention was drawn to the scrambled eggs in a pan on the skillet.

Molly rolled her eyes. "I'm on holiday. And Sherlock, you really don't have to do all this you know. It's alright. My holiday is not ruined. You can stop apologizing."

"I'm not-"

"You cooked."

"Just eggs," he responded defensively. His glare drifted into a pout. "Don't you want them?"

She wasn't about to give up a free breakfast. "No, of course I want them. But I'm just saying you can stop being so nice to me. Just…act normally."

"Implying that I am not normally nice." He set a plate of eggs down in front of her.

"Well…no."

A bird chirped loudly outside and Molly wished it would stop. She also wished Sherlock would wear shirts that fit him so the top buttons wouldn't always pop open.

"Then why do you li—let me stay around?"

Molly shifted to pull a leg up underneath her. "Your work is important. You help people," she said with her eyes glued to her plate.

Sherlock pulled his phone from his pocket. "Well…I'll be out of your hair soon. The first ferry leaves at 9. About an hour."

"Do you have another case?"

"No."

"You can stay a bit longer if you want," Molly said, trying to keep her voice off-handed and noncommittal.

"Do you want me to stay?"

"If you want to stay, I want you to stay."

"But do you want me to?" Sherlock pressed.

"If you want to."

* * *

An hour later Sherlock was stood at the door, holding his bag, when his phone went off and he glared down at it.

_How's the "case" going, Sherl?_ –Janine

_I'll get you back for this._-SH

"Well, bye then," Molly said quietly, drawing patterns with her finger on the side table as she stood with him in the hall. His phone went off again and he looked down.

_Thought so. So really what I've done is sent you on a free holiday with the woman you love. Is that really so nasty?_-Janine

_Molly wanted some time alone._-SH

_Molly wants **you**_**.**-Janine

Sherlock licked his lips. "Actually maybe I'll stay."

"You should if you want to."

Sherlock hoped he wasn't imagining the way her lips tugged up slightly at the corners.

* * *

_Thank you so much for all the reviews. They're so appreciated! I'll be posting a chapter a day of this until it's done. I can't wait for you to read the next chapter cus it's my favorite. -Listrant_


	3. Chapter 3

Molly stretched out on the outdoor lounge chair with a sigh. It was mid-afternoon now, a little after 1, and the sun was high in the sky. It was significantly warmer than yesterday and was shaping up to be a lovely day in May. She hoped, perhaps unrealistically, to get a bit of a tan from the sun and it's reflections off the glittering lake.

She wore the new polka dot bikini she'd bought especially for this occasion (she'd always wanted to be like the girl in the song…_itty bitty teeny weeny yellow polka dot bikini…_her polka dots were red, but it would have to do. They reminded her of the cherries on her favorite jumper anyway).

Molly glanced back at the cottage a few yards off, the only building within sight. She'd been intending to sunbathe topless on this trip; that was the advantage of the isolated cottage over a crowded resort. But with Sherlock here, she'd barely felt comfortable even wearing the bathing suit, despite his assurances that he would not so much as glance in the direction of the windows until she returned.

But she didn't want tan lines…

For once in her life, she wanted a tan without lines.

And Sherlock was many things, but a liar wasn't one of them. And god knew he didn't fancy her anyway.

Making up her mind, she reached back and untied her top, setting it on the ground beside her chair and letting her eyes drift shut as she lay back. She let the sun warm her skin for a half an hour before flipping over to do her back.

But as she turned around she felt a sharp pinch on her right breast. She reached down to brush away whatever debris had become lodged between her and the chair only to have it move and then…buzz. And now it was really, really starting to hurt.

A bee!

Jumping up with a shriek, Molly batted at the bee furiously. She managed to swat it off her chest only to have it start buzzing around her head. Oh no…that wasn't the same one…there were two! Images from a documentary she'd recently seen about killer bees flew through her head. Would she soon be surrounded by a giant swarm and stung to death?

Without thinking, she started screaming. "Sherlock! Sherlock! SHERLOCK! HELP!"

The next thing she knew, he was beside her. He grabbed her arms. "Molly! Molly what's wrong?"

"Bees! Bees! A swarm of bees is attacking me! Don't you see them?!"

"Molly, I don't think three bees constitutes a swarm. And they're not attacking you. Stop swatting at them and they won't hurt you," Sherlock said calmly.

Now that she wasn't alone and visions of Sherlock discovering her bee sting bloated corpse were no longer swimming in her mind, Molly realized she may have slightly overreacted.

"They already hurt me! I got stung," she snapped.

"Where?" Sherlock's eyes drifted down her body and they both seemed to remember in the same instant that she was topless.

Molly quickly crossed her arms over her breasts and…was that a blush on Sherlock Holmes' cheeks or just the flush of running out to her so quickly?

"Where?" He repeated. "Let me see Molly."

"No, I'm fine."

"I know about bee stings and if the stinger was left in, we'll have to get it out."

Molly spun around and presented her back to him to examine her already swelling breast. The sting was just above and to the left of her nipple, impossible for him to look at discreetly.

"What would that look like?" She asked.

"A stinger."

"Yes, but what does a stinger look like?"

"It depends on the type of bee."

Molly tried to live in denial, but she was sure that little black, splinter looking thing was what he referred to. "And, hypothetically, if I had a stinger, how would I get it out?"

"You'd stop being an idiot and let me do it properly so it doesn't get infected. My grandfather was a beekeeper, I've extracted dozens of stingers."

Molly turned and headed for the cabin. "No."

"Don't be ridiculous," Sherlock argued, trailing after her. "We're both scientists. It's all just fat and tissue to us. You show me naked corpses on an almost daily basis."

"Not my naked corpse I don't," Molly bit back as they entered the small building. She tried to shut the bathroom door in his face, but found his foot in the way.

Molly felt tears start to prick her eyes because it really hurt. And she honestly had no idea how to take the stinger out herself. But how hard could be it? She opened a drawer under the sink and found a pair of tweezers.

"Don't even think about using tweezers, Molly. That'll make it worse," came the deep voice from the other side of the door.

Crossing one arm over her breasts, she opened the door with a sigh. "Fine. Get it out."

"I'll be right back."

Sherlock was back in an instant with a sewing needle that he quickly dipped in Hydrogen peroxide.

"Come on, Molly," he urged when she didn't move her arm. "We need to get it out as quickly as possible."

Molly bit her lip and dropped her arm.

Sherlock immediately reached and out and cupped her right breast in his left hand, holding it still while he used other to scrape at her skin with the needle. He shifted positions slightly and his thumb brushed over her nipple and she felt her face flush with embarrassment when it instantly hardened.

Then, within seconds he pulled away. "Got it."

"Great. Thanks. Get out." Molly tried to shove him towards the door.

"Wait, we still need to clean it."

"Yeah well I think I can manage that." Molly reached for the peroxide.

"Not with that."

"Oh for fucks sake, fine," Molly said with a sigh. Giving up on any bit of modesty she had managed to retain this far, Molly let her arms fall to her side and pulled herself up to sit on the counter beside the sink, wincing as her chest jiggled with the effort. She kept her eyes trained on the ceiling, but she felt Sherlock press a warm wash cloth against breast and then gently rub soap on the sting. It was impossible for him to avoid her areola and Molly fought a shiver and the wish that he'd touch her more. After rinsing it, Sherlock rubbed aloe vera lotion on it.

"Alright. You're all set," he said.

"Great, thanks," Molly slid down from the counter faster than he moved away and her eyes widened as her front came in contact with his.

"So much for professional scientists," she accused.

"It's a natural biological reflex, Molly," Sherlock answered. "Calm down."

Somehow that only made it worse. She was upset when she thought he was aroused by her and upset when he wasn't. It didn't make sense. Why did he make everything so confusing?

"Alright. Well, get out," she said, coldly.

And he did.

* * *

When she finally emerged from the bedroom a few hours later, Sherlock didn't make eye contact.

"Do you want me to leave?" he asked. "I can just catch the last ferry if I go now."

"I was thinking 'Ice cream,' Molly responded.

"Ice cream?"

"For dinner. I thought we'd have ice cream."

* * *

They sat on the cottage's small front porch in wicker chairs. Molly had Mint Chocolate chip, Sherlock, strawberry.

"Janine has great taste," Molly said between bites of delicious ice cream.

"Thank you," Sherlock replied matter-of-factly.

"I meant the cottage."

"I know. How's the sting?"

"It hurts." Molly wiggled in discomfort. "I hate bras…and bees."

"I can agree on the former, but not the latter."

This drew Molly's attention. "You like bees? Why?"

"They're hard working, extremely loyal, and highly intelligent for insects. They're selfless, willing to give anything, even their lives, for the sake of the hive. And they're only violent out of self-defense."

Molly was stunned into silence. Not so much by the words he's said, but the sincerity with which he'd said them. Sherlock returned her gaze levelly, unflinchingly.

"Incidentally," he began slowly after a few moments, "those are the same reasons that I l-"

"Like John!" Molly finished the sentence before he could. She gave a little laugh. "It occurred to me immediately…you might as well have been describing him."

Sherlock frowned. "I suppose John does possess those qualities."

"Definitely." Molly scraped the final drippings of ice cream from her bowl and stood up.

"I don't know why I'm so tired, but I think I'll head to bed," she said.

"Stress of the day. Cortisol drains your energy," Sherlock muttered distractedly, staring off into space.

"Yeah, I suppose. Night Sherlock."

"Goodnight Molly Hooper."

* * *

_Thank you again for all of the lovely reviews! _


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, in spite of her still stinging breast (she'd dutifully rubbed lotion on it as instructed), Molly was feeling particularly cheery. She dressed in a white sundress, a large floppy hat, and strappy sandals.

She pulled open the door and jumped with surprise when she saw Sherlock leaning against the wall right beside it. It seemed as if the holiday was affecting him, as there was something more casual about the way he was dressed. It was his usual white dress shirt, black trousers, and shiny shoes, but there was no jacket and the sleeves of the shirt were rolled up above his elbows. There was a stillness to his manner that Molly wasn't accustomed to seeing.

On an uncontrollable impulse, she leaned up on her toes and pressed a kiss against his cheek. "Good morning…I think this holiday is good for you."

For once in his life, Sherlock seemed at a loss for words, just staring at her curiously.

"Do you think you can be behave yourself if I take you over to the village?" she teased. "I feel like exploring."

Breaking out of his trance, Sherlock answered. "I was just about to suggest that we'd better go across to the shops for some real food."

"Mint chocolate chip ice cream is as real as food gets," Molly argued as Sherlock followed her out the door.

* * *

After a short wait for the ferry, and a pleasant ride across the lake, they arrived in the small village. Janine had made sure that her cabin was well and truly rural; this was the only shopping for a few miles.

Molly got distracted by the sparkling trinkets in a gift shop window, but Sherlock steered her into the grocers. The shopkeeper's face lit up at the sight of unfamiliar faces.

"Hello! How can I help you?"

"We'll let you know!" Molly replied sweetly.

Sherlock pulled out a shopping trolley.

Molly reached to take it from him. "Have you ever driven one of these before?"

"Oh very funny, Dr. Hooper." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

It was strange going grocery shopping with Sherlock Holmes. Finding out he didn't like bananas but was particularly fond of cauliflower ("highly underrated vegetable"). There was a slight squabble over the choice in breakfast cereals (he called her choice "puerile" and she labeled his as "geriatric") before they made it to the till.

"Oh wait, I forgot crisps. Have to have some crisps," Molly said, turning back to the aisles.

"The objective was to get nutritious food, Molly. We've enough junk at home," Sherlock scolded.

"Crisps are potatoes!" Molly called back as she disappeared behind a display.

"Your wife is charming," the shopkeeper said while he started scanning their selections.

"She's not-" Sherlock began and then stopped. "She is charming. Thank you."

"Who's charming?" Molly asked, coming up behind him with her crisps.

"You are, dearie," the shopkeeper said with a wink. "I was just telling your husband."

Molly flushed. "Oh I'm not-"

"Not very good at taking compliments," Sherlock finished for her.

Just then, a stout red-headed woman approached the shopkeeper behind the till. "It's happened again, Samuel," she said. "On Monday the case was full. Now it's empty. I assume nobody's bought them?"

"No…" the shopkeeper, now identified as Samuel, shook his head. "Not more than one or two."

He turned to Molly and Sherlock. "I apologize. We've got a bit of a mystery on our hands here. The case of the disappearing trout."

Molly's brows shot up with a smirk. "Ooh a mystery. Sounds like you're in need of a detective." She bumped into Sherlock, who glared at her in response.

"Yeah, like that Sherlock Holmes bloke. Seems like a bit of a pansy but he always gets the job done. Least that's how they make it look on the telly. You never know where that Holmes bloke will turn up next," the shopkeeper said as he started bagging their groceries.

"No, you never do know where that pansy will show up next," Sherlock agreed wryly.

"Anyway, it's a real mystery. Had me and the wife scratchin' our heads for weeks. Every week we fill up that case over there," he gestured to the back corner of the store, where the top of a refrigerated glass case was just visible, "and every week the fish we've put in there disappear. But nobody's buyin' em. The computer keeps track you see…when you scan the barcode. It's like they're jumping out of there."

Sherlock shrugged. "What's the mystery? Shoplifting's an incredibly common phenomenon."

"Maybe where you come from," Samuel agreed. "But that type of thing just doesn't happen around here. Everybody knows each other. And besides, why just the fish? What's more is I can see the top of that case from the counter here, and ever since this started I've kept a very careful eye on it. Nobody so much as hovers by it without coming up to the till after with their choices." The shopkeeper shook his head.

"Hmmm" Molly murmured, "that is puzzling indeed."

"Yes, absolutely fascinating," Sherlock agreed sarcastically, grabbing their bags from the counter. He'd already paid. "We'd better be going, have a nice day." He faked a smile and ushered Molly out of the shop.

"Aren't you curious?" Molly asked once they were out in the warm sunshine again. "It's a case."

"It's not a case. It's shoplifting and a man who needs a new pair of glasses."

"Maybe….or maybe…" Molly's words were cut off by a quiet voice behind them.

"Excuse me, are you Sherlock Holmes? Mr. Holmes?" the high pitched, Irish accented voice called. Turning, they discovered that the voice belonged to a small girl whose blonde hair was contained in a frizzy braid and jeans were muddy round the bottom.

Molly knelt down right away to speak to the girl on her own level. "Yes, he's Sherlock Holmes. How can we help you, sweetie?" she asked kindly.

"He's a famous detective? He solves problems?" the child went on shyly.

"Yes, whatever your problem is, we can solve it," Molly answered, glancing over her shoulder to give Sherlock a look that said "you better."

The girl hesitated.

"What's your name, dear?" Molly urged.

"Ellie."

"I'm Molly and this is Sherlock. What problem do you need solved?"

"My cat. My cat is missing," tears welled up in Ellie's blue eyes.

"Oh no! Don't worry, we'll find it," Molly hugged the little girl. "What's his name and what does he look like?"

"Her name is Cinnamon, and she's white with tan patches. One patch is around her left eye and there's one on the tip of her tail."

"How long has she been missing? How old? Has she been spayed?" Sherlock asked quickly, all business.

"I haven't seen her in two days. She's three. I don't know what the last thing means."

"Can Cinnamon have babies? Has your Mummy told you if Cinnamon will ever have kittens?" Molly clarified.

"Oh. No…we took her to the vet and after that Mummy said that Cinnamon can't have babies. Miss Molly and Mr. Sherlock, will you help me find her? I've tried everything. I even put extra of her favorite food in her dish this week. She always comes for that…"

"Yes! Don't you worry," Molly held out her hand to the little girl.

"Miss Molly, could I have a little conference with you over here?" Sherlock asked, moving a few steps away.

"I'll be right back," Molly said to Ellie before following the taller man.

"What?" she said.

"When an animal disappears there are two possibilities. Death or sex. It's either dead or dying or it's looking for an opportunity to reproduce. And since Cinnamon is fixed…" Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"The cat's only three though," Molly whispered. "What are the odds it went off to die?"

"Accidents happen. What will we tell the girl? We can't just lead her to the corpse. 'Here's your dear kitty, Cinnamon, hope you don't mind a few extra maggots.'"

"Shhh," Molly hushed him when his voice got too loud. "There might not be any corpse. We have to try. What else are you doing? You're a detective. Detect!"

"Fine but if it ends badly…"

"I take full responsibility."

Sherlock sighed and held up the bags. "I'll go see if 'Samuel the friendly grocer' can hang on to these for us."

* * *

Ten minutes later Sherlock and Molly found themselves on the little girl's front doorstep, greeting her mother. The poor woman turned white at the sight of him.

"You're Sherlock Holmes!" she gasped in astonishment.

Molly smiled. "Are you a fan?" she asked.

"Oh lord no!"

Sherlock turned a withering gaze to her.

"I mean, no offense intended!" the woman held up her hands. "It's just…I'd never know who you were if it weren't for Ellie. She adores you! Completely obsessed. Makes me keep the news on 24/7 in hopes of getting a glimpse of you."

Ellie's face turned bright red and she kept her eyes on her pink shoes.

"I think she has a bit of a crush," her mother stage whispered.

"Well, there's no accounting for taste," Molly giggled, but she affectionately smoothed down Ellie's hair and pulled her against her hip in a half hug of comfort.

"Thank you," Sherlock muttered. "Mrs…whatever-your name doesn't matter-Ellie's mother," he began, rapid fire. "We're here about the cat."

"The cat?! My god, I knew Ellie'd written to you, but I never dreamed you'd actually show up for _that_," Ellie's mother said.

"We were in th-" Sherlock started to say, but Molly cut him off.

"In the mood for a very challenging case," the pathologist finished. "We rushed here from London straightaway just for this. Sherlock's very excited," she said pointedly.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Oh yes, I am. Fascinating."

Ellie beamed.

"Well…wonderful," the Irish woman said, "You just…well do whatever you need to do and…I assume you'll have Ellie home by 6?"

"Definitely," Molly promised and Ellie's mother turned to go back in the house.

"You just make yourselves at home. Let me know if you need anything," she said, pulling a dishtowel out from where she'd stashed it in her apron.

"Where does Cinnamon eat?" Sherlock asked Ellie.

"She has a food and water dish around back." Ellie led the way.

The little metal water dish was full, but the other sat empty.

"I thought you said you'd left food," Sherlock said, bending down to examine the dishes more closely.

"I only put Cinnamon's food out at night and take it away in the mornings if she hasn't ate it," Ellie explained.

Sherlock's brow furrowed. "Why?"

"She only likes to eat at night."

"That's ridiculous. Cats don't have a preference as to the time of day they eat," Sherlock said.

Ellie's face fell. "She does."

"Of course she does, sweetie. Sherlock just doesn't know because he doesn't have a cat. I do and I can assure you Sherlock that cats do have food preferences," Molly said.

Sherlock only sighed and returned his attention to the bowls. He took a long sniff of the empty food dish.

"Really?" Molly asked. "Are you a blood hound?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and then began examining the nearby ground with the magnifying glass which he apparently always carried.

Suddenly he stopped and picked up a small white item, about the size of a pencil point. He examined it closely with the glass, then started chuckling, glancing at the child.

"What is it?" Molly asked. Sherlock only shook his head and pressed the object into her hand. She didn't recognize it.

"Yes, but what is it?" she repeated. Sherlock was down on his hands and knees, checking about a two foot radius around the spot he'd found the white pebble-like object.

"Ah ha! Yes, very good," he said, ignoring her question and pocketing something too small for Molly to see and then repeated the process of examining the nearby area. He continued on this way, following the trail of these tiny white objects away from the house.

About 5 meters away he found a much larger white object and stood up, handing it to Molly. "Care to take another stab at it doctor?"

Molly gasped and then lowered her voice, glancing at the child who was watching all this with rapt attention.

"It looks like bone," Molly whispered. "Not human, but I can't recognize the animal from this fragment. Not the cat?" she asked nervously.

Sherlock smiled and shook his head. "Not the cat."

"Well?!"

Sherlock only shook his head and kept searching the ground, following the trail. A few more pieces of white later, he stopped, unable to find any more.

Suddenly Ellie squealed and grabbed something from a patch of brambles. "This is Cinnamon's fur!"

"Very good, Ellie," Sherlock said, taking the hair from her outstretched hand.

"Yes," he agreed, "it's definitely feline."

Molly sighed. This dress wasn't made for walking through the open fields. "Great, but what do we do now?"

"Find another breadcrumb," Sherlock said.

"Breadcrumb?"

"You know, like Hansel and Gretel. A trail. In this case: bones, fur, blood, etcetera."

"Blood?!" Ellie gasped and Molly glared at Sherlock.

"That was just an example, Ellie," she said.

They'd found three more 'breadcrumbs,' as Sherlock called them, two bone particles and a tuft of hair, when the child suddenly screamed. "Cinnamon! You did it Mr. Holmes, I just heard her meow!"

"What?"

They all went very still and listened and then they heard it, very, very faintly…a cat's meow. Slowly, they followed the sound, until they found themselves in the middle of a field, near the base of a tree.

"Cinnamon!" Ellie called. The cat's responding cry was clear as a bell, but they saw no sign of the creature in any direction.

Sherlock groaned. "No, it can't be."

"What?" Molly asked. She followed the direction of his gaze: up.

And there was a Cinnamon, exactly as described, stuck on a branch near the top of the tree.

Molly laughed. "I didn't know that happened in real life."

Sherlock nodded. "It's the claws. Great for going up, rubbish for coming down."

Ellie was standing at the tree trunk, shouting desperately up at her beloved pet. "Cinnamon! Cinnamon! Come down! Cinnamon!"

"I'm afraid Cinnamon can't come down, Ellie. Sherlock will have to go up and get her."

Sherlock's brows shot up as he turned to Molly. "Will he?" he asked.

"Yes he will," Molly insisted with a glare. "Or else he will find himself very much without any _toys_ to play with when we return to London."

"I thought this was what the fire brigade was for," Sherlock grumbled.

Molly put her hands on her hips. "You are perfectly capable. You're an excellent climber and in extremely good shape. You could climb that tree with your hands tied behind your back."

Sherlock stared at her with an odd expression on his face and then sighed. "Alright. Here." He handed her his mobile, wallet, and the magnifying glass and jumped to grab the first branch.

* * *

Molly was right and Sherlock made quick work of the tree; it wasn't long before he was back on the ground and placing the kitty in Ellie's arms. The little girl burst into sobs of happiness and hugged his legs fiercely.

"I still don't understand," Molly said, as they followed Ellie back through the fields behind her house. The little girl cuddled the cat gently in her arms. "The bones?"

"Oh, I thought that was obvious."

"You always do," Molly sighed.

"They were fish bones." Sherlock chuckled.

"Fish bones?"

"Yes…it seems we've solved two cases at once."

"Oh god, the grocer?"

"Yes, Ellie is our fish thief," Sherlock confirmed.

Molly burst out laughing. "And she feeds them to the cat! Which is why there was a trail of fish bones leading to the tree."

"Exactly. And, of course, that's the real reason she feeds the cat at night. So her mother won't see that, instead of the intended cat kibble, she's feeding Cinnamon stream fresh, stolen trout. You remember the girl mentioned giving the cat her FAVORITE food. What's a cat's favorite food? You laughed at me when I smelled the bowl, but the dish reeked of fish, and without that information, I'd likely have disregarded the tiny bone fragments around it."

"How'd you know the bones would lead right to the cat?"

"I didn't. But it was the best lead we had, so I followed it. We got lucky."

Molly smiled and sighed. "Poor Ellie. She has some explaining to do."

"I doubt they'll put her in Pentonville."

* * *

Thank you, thank you, thank you again for all of your reviews! You're so wonderful!

I also want to thank Ellie for letting me borrow her name. And Mindy for letting me borrow her cat's name. ;)


	5. Chapter 5

On the ferry ride back across the lake that afternoon, with the wind whipping through her hair and the only sounds the roar of the engine and the slap of the waves, Molly thought about Ellie's reaction when Sherlock confronted her about the stolen trout on their return to the girl's home.

_"Mummy wouldn't let me buy them for her!" she cried. "And Cinnamon really, really loves fishes! She hates those hard pebbles!" Tears streamed down Ellie' face and over her delicate features._

_"Ellie," her mother knelt down in front of her daughter, "Mummy explained to you that we cannot afford to feed fresh fish to Cinnamon. Fishes are very expensive and she is just a cat. The dry food is all that she needs."_

_"No!" The little girl continued to sob._

_Ellie's mother turned to Sherlock and Molly. "One day Sam had a fish that had gone bad, and he gave it to Ellie to take home to her cat. Everyone knows how fond she is of Cinnamon. The cat gobbled it up and then for a few days ignored the dry food. Probably wasn't hungry. Ellie became convinced that Cinnamon would starve to death if we didn't give her more fish. I said no and I thought that was the end of the story. I assumed it was just childish fantasy when she started insisting on feeding Cinnamon only at night. I guess I should have known." The woman shook her head._

_Molly's mouth dropped open when Sherlock suddenly went down on one knee in front of the sobbing child._

_"Ellie, Ellie listen to me," he said soothingly. "The dry food is perfectly fine for Cinnamon and she will eat it when she gets hungry. And you absolutely cannot steal anything else for her. Stealing is against the law and you know what happens to people who break the law?"_

_Ellie sniffled, her tears drying up. "You and Mr. Lestrade come and put them in prison."_

_"Exactly. And you don't want to go to jail, do you?"_

_The little girl violently shook head back and forth._

_"Do you know why stealing is against the law?" Sherlock went on. _

_Another headshake._

_"Because it hurts people. Mr. Sam makes money by selling those fish, and when you steal them, he doesn't get any money. And if he doesn't have any money he can't take care of himself and his family. Do you want to hurt the nice grocer and his family?"_

_"No!" Ellie squealed with wide eyes._

_"So do you promise me you won't do that again?"_

_"I promise."_

_Sherlock pressed a kiss to the little girl's cheek and she beamed. "That's my good girl."_

_Sherlock stood. "And if you are a very good girl, and your mummy will tell me if you are, I will come and visit you again soon."_

_Ellie wiped her eyes on her shirt. "And Miss Molly?"_

_One side of Sherlock's mouth quirked up. "I think I can get Miss Molly to come too."_

It was natural, Molly supposed, for her to find his behavior incredibly arousing. Women were biologically programmed to be attracted to men who seemed like they would be good fathers. And when it was a man one was already in love with…well it was no surprise. She was a goner.

She'd never thought Sherlock could be good with children. And it was true that today she'd had her moments where she wanted to bop him on the head for his insensitivity. But damn, had he ended on a high note.

And now he sat beside her, with a tear in his expensive trousers and dirt on his crisp white shirt, accessories he'd acquired rescuing a little girl's cat from a tree.

It just didn't get any sexier than that.

Molly sighed.

* * *

Sherlock wished he knew what that sigh meant. Back in the lab, he'd felt relatively confident that she was at least physically attracted to him, but here it was so hard to tell. She'd winced when he'd dared her to kiss him and seemed appalled yesterday at the necessity of him touching her breast.

But today the way she looked at him when he stood up after handing the little girl her cat. And when she'd bent over and whispered something in Ellie's ear just before they left, and the two of them had giggled furiously with their eyes on him.

No, he couldn't make heads or tails of the mystery that was Molly Hooper's heart.

All he knew was when the grocer assumed she was his wife, he couldn't bring himself to correct him.

* * *

"It was nice of Samuel to give us those steaks for solving the mystery," Molly said when she hurried back into the kitchen. She'd reluctantly left Sherlock in charge of starting the cooking for their dinner while she freshened up after the long day. All he had to do was watch the steaks and chop the vegetables for their salad, but still Molly'd moved as quickly as she could, just fixing her hair and refreshing her make up. She needn't have worried; the steaks were sizzling away happily on the stove top, filling the room with the mouth-watering aroma of cooking meat, and the salad looked wonderful.

"Hm, and the wine and candles," Sherlock agreed absently, his focus was on the tomatoes he was doing a terrible job of slicing. It was only then that Molly noticed that he'd lit the two long stem red candles and placed them on the little dining table in elegant holders.

"You lit them?" she asked in surprise.

"I have a rule about always using the gifts I receive in exchange for solving cases," Sherlock answered.

Molly smiled as she thought of the tie clip she'd found marking the page of a book once and the cufflinks she'd seen him use as electrodes to project an electric charge into muscle tissue. "I see."

She approached the table to examine the candles more closely. Sherlock had their places all set across from each other with Janine's lovely china. With the candles burning between them the set up was a bit…romantic.

"He obviously thought that we were…we let him think that we were," Molly stuttered.

"That we were what?"

Molly could hear the annoyance in his voice and came over to find him running a knife through a mushy soup of tomato chunks.

"Here, let me do that," she laughed. "You go have your turn getting cleaned up for dinner."

Sherlock pouted like a child, but handed over the knife. "I was getting it."

"Sure you were."

* * *

When Sherlock returned, Molly was just carrying their full plates over to the table. Their meal was simple enough, steak and baked potatoes with salad and fresh fruit. On a whim, she'd dimmed the lights; it seemed a waste of the candles not to.

Molly felt her heart speed up at the sight of Sherlock. He'd completely changed his clothes, he wore a black shirt now, and his curls were just slightly damp. She caught a faint whiff of what could only be cologne.

"You showered?"

Sherlock went to pick up the bottle of wine the grocer had given them and started to uncork it. "Yes, well if you'll recall, I did climb a tree today."

"Fair enough."

Sherlock poured wine into both of their glasses and they sat down across from each other at the small table. Molly was starving and they both ate in silence for several minutes.

"You're actually eating," Molly said, watching in astonishment as Sherlock laid waste to his baked potato.

"Contrary to popular belief, I am human. I shower, and eat, and do everything else that other men do," Sherlock responded.

"No…no I didn't mean…" Molly felt herself blush, not sure if it was embarrassment over having said something stupid or the images his words had brought to her mind. _Everything?_

Neither of them spoke again until they'd both nearly finished their food.

Molly looked down at her plate. "Thank you for helping Ellie today. It was sweet of you," she said quietly.

Sherlock let out a little "hm" noise. "Thank you for making me want to."

"What?" Molly's gaze snapped up.

Sherlock took a sip of wine before answering. "I believe the phrase is something along the lines of 'you make me want to be a better man'….Molly Hooper," he added her name as afterthought.

Molly was silent. She opened and closed her mouth several times but no sound came out.

Sherlock drank again. "I can't believe I just said something so saccharine. I'm fighting an overwhelming desire to rinse my mouth out with bleach," he joked.

"Aha," Molly half-laughed. "I'm sorry," she said, dabbing at her mouth with Janine's tasteful cloth napkin. "I don't know what to say. That's the most wonderful thing a man has ever said to me."

They sat across from each other in awkward, unbearable silence for a long time.

"I was afraid you would ask if I loved you," Molly blurted all of a sudden.

"What?"

"In truth or dare. You asked what I was afraid of. I was afraid you would ask if I loved you. Or rather, if I was in love with you," she clarified.

"So you are then?" Sherlock pressed. "You do?"

She was finally looking in his eyes. "Yes, of course I am. I do. Obviously." She started to ramble. "And it wasn't that I thought you didn't know that. It's not as if I'm very good at hiding it. How you make me a nervous stuttering mess. It's just…embarrassing to have to openly admit it, you know? When the feelings aren't returned…but that's childish. We're both adults. This kind of thing happens all the time. There's no reason that we can't still be friends."

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Yes, I'm afraid there is."

"What?" Molly looked so hurt.

"I want to take you to bed right now, and that's not what friends do."

"Oh…" Molly said breathlessly as Sherlock stood up. He came around behind her and pulled her chair out and she stood, turning slowly to face him.

When Sherlock's hands came around her waist, Molly's slid up around his neck and she came up on her toes to kiss him softly. He kissed her back and it was life in slow motion.

When they separated, Sherlock leaned away to blow out the candles on the table, and then took her hand in his own, pulling her from the room.

Molly expected that Sherlock would bring the same exuberant impatience to the bedroom as he expressed during a case. But no, there was a quiet deliberateness to the way he crawled over her as she laid back on the bed.

There was more breath-stealing kissing. His hands roamed her body, but when one slid up under her dress, Molly stopped him.

"Maybe we shouldn't…this will change things," she whispered.

"Good," Sherlock quipped. "I don't fancy meeting another Tom. Ever."

"And Irene Adler?"

"Is history."

"Okay." Molly nodded. "I trust you."

"I've always trusted you," Sherlock murmured, his voice rumbling like an engine as he slid down her body.

He ran his fingers lightly over her cunt through her pants while Molly shivered underneath him. Then he followed the fabric up to the elastic band and tugged it down over her legs.

Molly gasped when he laid down and burrowed his head under her dress.

"I don't have much experience in this area." Sherlock's voice was muffled by the fabric, but Molly jumped at the feeling of his warm breath on the short hair covering her mound.

"What?" she asked.

Sherlock pulled her dress up and peered up at her. "I said I don't have much experience in this area," he repeated.

"A-alright?" Molly didn't know how to answer that.

"So just let me know what feels good. I'm a fast learner," he added matter-of-factly before diving right back under her dress.

Molly pulled her legs farther apart reflexively when he spread her lips apart and then his tongue was lapping at her clit.

"Oh…boy…you know…that's actually really good…" she babbled.

He switched to sucking on the sensitive little nub and slowly slid a finger inside of her. Then two.

"Oh…yes…that too," she squeaked.

But it was the rhythmic up and down licking of her clit that finally had her clenching around his fingers a few minutes later.

"I can't believe you just went down on me," she panted, when he slid back up to lay beside her.

Sherlock smiled. "I thought about crawling underneath that dress all day."

"Hm, thank you," she said, and Sherlock's eyes widened a bit when she planted a kiss on his wet lips.

Molly leaned over him and started to unbutton his shirt. "And I've fantasized for years about giving these poor buttons some relief. They've been sorely used, Mr. Holmes," she teased with a smirk.

Sherlock watched her in amusement. "Would you prefer I wear looser shirts?"

"God no!" Molly gasped and pressed her lips to the exposed skin of his chest.

Sherlock sat up and shrugged off the shirt, then reached for the hem of Molly's dress and yanked it up over her head.

"It has a zipper," the massive wall of white fabric said to him when it got stuck and wouldn't go over her head.

"Oh." Sherlock carefully pulled the dress back down and Molly (hair now a mess) gave him an exasperated look before turning to present the zipper to him.

Molly stood up to push the dress down, but kept her eyes on Sherlock, whose hands were at his fly, rapidly undoing his trousers. Molly licked her lips as she reached back for her bra hooks; the sight of Sherlock lifting his hips to wiggle out of his trousers and pants, his cock popping out hard and ready for action, was the stuff her late night masturbation session fantasies were made of.

Molly clambered back up onto the bed and practically tackled Sherlock, wanting to feel all of her skin against his. The kissing was frantic now, while Molly rocker her hips against his.

"Mm, shouldn't we use…do you…?" she asked, pulling away for breath.

Sherlock angled over toward the bedside drawer. "Don't worry. Janine will have thought of everything. That's what makes her such a great P.A.," he said, pulling out a box.

"Does she still do that?" Molly asked while he ripped the packaging open.

"Yes, but thankfully her new boss isn't such a repulsive excuse for a human being," Sherlock muttered.

Molly watched as he rolled the condom down. "She really does seem like a lovely woman. I feel awful now for hating her for so long," she said.

Sherlock shrugged. "Tom is probably a pretty stand up bloke as well."

"He really is," Molly agreed, getting up on her hands and knees and turning to present Sherlock with what any straight man would consider an undeniable invitation.

Sherlock slid into her and the talking stopped, replaced by the sounds of their breathing and the slight creak of the bed (Molly held onto the headboard with one hand for support).

"Molly…." Sherlock warned.

"No…no, no, no. Not quite yet," Molly sighed.

Sherlock groaned.

"Think of your mother. Mrs. Hudson. Mycroft," she chanted in time to his thrusts, reaching between her legs.

"Mmm…ok, ok, yes…" she moaned 30 seconds later.

Sherlock was right behind her. "Fuck…Molly…"

* * *

Molly and Sherlock woke up the next morning with a jolt in a mess of sheets and hot skin.

It was the chime of Molly's phone that had woken them up. Text alert.

Molly glanced at Sherlock and then reached over him to grab her mobile off the bedside table.

_Congratulations, you two. Do me a favor and keep it in the bedroom. I'm rather fond of the sofa.-Janine_

Sherlock took in Molly's horrified expression and grabbed the phone.

"If she had cameras in here, I'll kill her! That's disgusting!" Molly cried.

Sherlock pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder. "Relax. She doesn't."

"Then how?"

Sherlock gestured to the bedside table. "There's a wire in the drawer. I must have tripped an alarm when I opened it."

Molly pouted, but she relaxed back into Sherlock's side. "I could have been opening that drawer for another reason."

"Balance of probability. You're not the type to look through other people's drawers. And she knows I've not returned to London…"

"That was a sneaky thing to do."

Sherlock Holmes wrapped his arms around his pathologist. "Yes, but remember we owe all of this to her."

"Mm…I should send her some flowers," Molly answered into his neck.

"No. Honey. She loves bees."

* * *

_Thanks again for all the reviews! They make my day! One more chapter left! _


	6. Chapter 6

Janine leaned over the sink in order to get her red lipstick just right as she put it on in the bathroom mirror. She wore a short, black cocktail dress and black high heels and her hair was pulled up in an elegant twist. She'd be carrying a bright yellow handbag to match the colors of the wedding…black and yellow. It was a bit of an inside joke for the bride and groom and all the guests had been instructed to dress in those colors. Molly'd had Janine in stitches when she told her why she and Sherlock wanted a bumble bee themed wedding. Janine suggested they just keep the colors and not tell the other guests what it meant.

It was only six months after Sherlock and Molly had returned from their long weekend away at her cottage when Sherlock proposed. In his own way, of course (Janine had been disgusted to hear that he hid the ring inside of a corpse). As soon as she got home from Ireland, Molly had come to thank Janine in her London flat and a friendship quickly grew. By the time Molly's engagement was announced, it felt natural for her to help plan the wedding (Janine was good at planning. She considered it a gift).

And now here they were, the morning of the big event. The wedding wasn't for several hours, in the late afternoon, but, as the unofficial wedding planner, Janine was going to head over to the church and reception sites ahead of time to make sure everything was set up correctly.

Rubbing her lips together, she heard her phone go off and glanced down to it on the counter. She chuckled when she saw Sherlock's name on the screen, wondering what the nervous groom was calling to fret about this time (he'd called three times last night with concerns about the cake, flowers, and DJ).

But then she read the message.

_Janine, are you ok? I'll be there soon. Lock everything and don't open the door for ANYONE until I get there. Your life depends on it.-SH_

Janine didn't waste time responding as she felt her heart lurch and then start pounding. She ran to the front door and checked the locks and then went around the flat checking the windows, closing all the curtains. The sliding glass door to her balcony was unlocked and her fingers trembled as she fixed it.

_I'm fine. What's going on?_

It was just a few seconds after she sent the text that someone started pounding on her door. Her mouth went dry. She felt sick. She hurried to the door and checked the peep hole.

Not Sherlock.

The man with short gray hair seemed vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place him. A neighbor? One of Magnussen's old associates? The meager view from the peep hole didn't give her much to go on.

"Miss Hanigan? Are you alright? Police! Let me in!" he shouted through the heavy wood.

Police? Maybe she should…no…Sherlock had said not to let ANYONE besides him in. She wasn't sure why, but despite what he'd put her through, even though so many of his interactions with her had been lies and deception, she trusted Sherlock. He may have broken her heart, but he'd keep her safe.

"How do I know that?" She shouted back. "Sherlock said not to let anyone in."

She saw the man hold up an ID card, but through the peephole it was impossible to read it well.

"Greg Lestrade. Detective Inspector Lestrade. I'm a friend of Sherlock's. We met at the Watson's wedding. Trust me, you'll be safer with someone with a gun in there with you. Those glass balcony doors won't keep much out. Let me in."

"Unless you're the one who wants to hurt me. I don't remember you," Janine countered.

"I swear, Miss Hanigan. I'm a DI, I'm here to help you. Please let me in. If something…I can't do anything from out here." The expression on his face was sincere and Janine's fingers were just hovering over the lock when she heard her phone go off and Sherlock's voice outside.

_Here, let us in.-SH_

"Janine! It's ok, let us in!"

As she pulled open the door, Janine stumbled back to allow a long stream of people in. Sherlock first, then the man who'd identified himself as Greg Lestrade, then several police officers holding guns, John Watson, and finally, Molly Hooper. Molly's hair was done in the style they'd selected but her make up was only half finished, and she wore the white tracksuit Janine had given her with "Mrs. Holmes" scrawled across the arse. Sherlock wore his usual suit and white shirt; he wasn't dressed for the wedding.

While the others spread out around the flat, rushing into her bedroom, the kitchen, and out on the balcony, Molly pulled Janine into a tight hug. "Oh thank god, you're ok!"

"What's going on, Molly? Will somebody please tell me what the hell is going on?" Janine insisted just as Sherlock was strolling back in from her bedroom and Lestrade came off the balcony, slid the glass door shut, and locked it again.

"Why didn't you tell her she could let me in?" Lestrade barked at Sherlock.

Sherlock waved a hand dismissively. "You're usually so slow, George. I never dreamed you'd beat us here."

Lestrade shook his head. Janine noticed he was wearing a nice black suit and tie underneath his coat and…was it him that smelled so nice? "Alright, that's not funny anymore," he said with a pointed finger at the consulting detective. "And I happened to be in the area when you called. My ex lives just around the corner and I was dropping the kids round…and who are you calling slow?"

"WILL SOMEBODY PLEASE TELL ME WHAT THE BLOODY FUCKING HELL IS GOING ON?" Janine shouted, her patience gone and her nerves shot.

The room went silent. Everyone looked at her as if they were afraid to speak. Molly chewed on her lip.

"Tom, Molly's ex-fiancé, is dead." Sherlock was, of course, the one to start in with his usual directness.

"Oh, that's awful. I'm sorry sweetie," Janine said to her friend. "But what does that have to do with me?"

"Tom's not just dead; he was murdered. They found him in his flat today. Shot in the chest."

Janine's eyes drifted around the room. "I'm still not following you, Sherl."

The detective inspector stepped forward, holding out a plastic zip lock bag with a piece of paper inside. Janine took it from his hands.

_For every "I do," there must be an "I don't"_

_While these two hearts are joining_

_There are two that they broke._

"I still don't…" Janine shook her head. "What's going on?"

"Molly and I have each had only one broken engagement. Tom and…the note hints that you…They've killed, Tom. Shot him straight through the heart."

It was ridiculous, but Janine reflexively looked down at her chest. She laughed but the sound was hollow. "That…that could mean anything. There's no reason to think this has anything to do with me…Surely, Molly you have other exes…"

"Uhm…yeah, sure. Only one engagement though," Molly answered quietly.

"And Sherlock?" Janine turned to him hopefully. He just gave her a hard look.

"Your brother," John Watson spoke for the first time since their arrival. "Surely your brother can take her somewhere safe," he suggested.

"For how long?" Janine asked. "A few days? A month? Until you find the killer? What if you never do?"

"I'm sure Sherlock will…" John started in but Janine cut him off, turning to Sherlock.

"How close are you?"

"Honestly?"

Janine nodded.

"I don't have anything. There wasn't any solid evidence in his flat. Virtually everyone knew about our failed engagement, the list of people who knew about Molly and Tom is smaller, but by no means short. Virtually everyone at the hospital and…"

Janine stopped him with a held up hand. She took a deep breath and forced a smile. "Well, we just won't worry about it then. There's a good chance the note doesn't refer to me anyway. And we've got a wedding to attend. Molly, you're not even close to ready. We've got pictures before the ceremony, remember?"

"Janine-"

"We're postponing the wedding, of course…"

"What? You'll do no such thing," Janine insisted. "But if you'd prefer I not come-"

"No!" Molly gasped. "No! After all you've done for us…I couldn't possibly get married without you there!"

Janine smiled. "Well, I'll just be careful then. Won't walk down any dark alleys. I'll be in a crowd of people the whole time. And…you'll be there, I suppose, Detective Inspector?"

Lestrade rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. "Yeah, I told you this cock is a friend of mine," he said, gesturing to the groom.

"Great. I'll just…stick close to you and it'll be like I have my own personal policeman bodyguard."

"Before I was a potential killer and now I'm a good bodyguard?" Lestrade grumbled.

"Well, whatever works, Detective Inspector," Janine quipped with a smirk. She looked down at her phone. "My god, we've wasted so much time. Molly you have to get back to the salon right away. And Sherlock, please tell me your tux didn't catch on fire or end up in a puddle of acid or something," she went on as if nothing was at all the matter.

All other occupants of the room were frozen in place, apparently contemplating the wisdom of crossing the woman who now had steel in her eyes, practically daring them to object.

Janine grabbed her yellow bag from the hall table. "Come on. Lord knows we haven't got all day. We've only booked the church for an hour and if we're not on time…"

Sherlock sighed and opened his mouth but then closed it again when he met Janine's gaze over her cheery smile.

"Alright," he began again. "She's right…it'll be difficult to hurt her in a crowded church or reception hall. As long as you don't wander off alone…we can regroup and figure out a new game plan in the morning. And this will force them to come to the wedding, if they're committed. If they show up, I'll have a better chance of picking them out today than tracking them down out of the blue. If you're sure this is what you want Janine?"

"Do I look sure, Sherl?" Janine bit out. "Let's go have a wedding."

* * *

When Janine made for her mini in the car park, D.I. Lestrade grabbed her arm and swung her around. "No, no, no, you'll be riding in my car. It's safer."

"Why?" Janine couldn't keep the annoyance from her voice.

"Well, first off, I'll be in it," the policeman flashed her a cocky smile, "and also it's built to take a bullet. Reinforced glass on the windows and all of that."

"Well, thanks, it's a nice offer, but I prefer to drive myself."

The words had barely left Janine's mouth when a huge booming sound shook the car park behind her and the D.I. pushed her to the ground behind his car. Janine felt a wave of heat wash over her cheeks and it was hard to breathe.

It took her a few moments to realize that this was because Lestrade was lying on top of her.

The boom had devolved into a low, hissing roar by the time the man slowly hauled himself off of her and stood, extending his hand to pull her up. She took it, but made sure to give him a nasty glare as she did, making it clear she didn't appreciate his knocking her over and smothering her.

"What the h-," her words died off as she saw the source of the noise. A car, across the car park, engulfed in flames.

Her car.

* * *

_I know I said this would be the last chapter, but there's actually one more to go and then an epilogue. I hope you like the direction I've chosen to take it. This chapter was initially totally different and I deleted it and started again. Let me know what you think!-Listrant_


	7. Chapter 7

It was, at first, a quiet ride as Lestrade drove her to the church. Thankfully, no one was hurt in the explosion of her car, although the realization that, if it hadn't been for the delay, she'd have been driving it at the time it blew up was admittedly chilling.

It was now, of course, impossible to deny that someone wanted her dead.

The man beside her cleared his throat and Janine's eyes drifted around the car, trying to distract herself from this terrifying reality. The car was a mess. Fast food wrappers littered the floor and papers (case files?) were strewn across the dash. There was a bottle of antacids in the passenger door compartment, along with some napkins and a few pens without caps. The car had a little computer in the center console and a complicated looking radio, on top of which was taped a photograph of two small children, a girl and boy.

Now that she was shut up in a closed space with him, Janine realized that it was definitely his cologne she'd smelled earlier. It was masculine and somehow old fashioned. Not like the fragrances all the men seemed to wear today that were practically unisex.

"How old are your children, Detective Inspector?" she asked to break the silence.

"Call me Greg," he said between chews of the nicotine gum he'd popped in his mouth the second they'd gotten into the car. "My son's 5 and my daughter is 7."

"Oh. I was guessing 6 and 8."

Greg chuckled. "Chandler will be pleased to hear that. She's in a rush to grown up."

"They live with their mother?"

He nodded. "For the past year. I work long hours and a little girl needs her mother…I have them on weekends…"

Janine heard the guilt in his voice. "You don't have to explain anything to me. My parents were divorced," she said.

"It's not what I wanted for my kids. We tried for a long time to make it work, but she…I was gone too much."

Janine nodded, even though he couldn't see her with his eyes on the road. She didn't know what to say.

"Have you ever been married, Miss Hanigan?" Greg asked out of the blue.

"Janine. And no, I haven't."

"But you must be…seeing someone now," he edged.

"Why?"

"Oh…well…just…you know…possible suspects."

"Oh. No, I'm not."

"Good," he said and then clarified quickly. "Good to know all the facts."

Janine nodded.

* * *

Molly was stunning in her 1920's style lace gown and Sherlock was, well, Sherlock. Tall, dark, and gorgeous.

The wedding went off without a hitch, as far as the bride and groom were concerned. From Janine's perspective, however, it was a bit….well, bumpy. Greg, seated beside her, was incessantly jiggling his leg during the vows. Finally, she couldn't stand it anymore and placed a hand on his knee to still him. He flashed an apologetic smile.

"Do weddings make you nervous, Greg?" Janine asked, when they were back in the car on the way to the reception hall.

"What? No? Why should you ask that?"

"Hm…you're on your third piece of that gum. And I thought you might vibrate right off the bench during the ceremony."

"No. It's just, you know, we've got a murderer on our hands."

Janine chuckled. "Yes, but as far as I know, he's after me, not you."

His eyes slid over to her. "So?"

"So why should _you_ be nervous?"

"I don't want anyone to get hurt. It's my job to see that they don't," he said gruffly.

"Yes, but you're off duty now."

Greg shook his head as he made a left turn. "I'm never off duty."

* * *

Greg and Janine merged into the large mass of black and yellow swarming into the dance hall. Sherlock and Molly had wanted a small, intimate affair, but then Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Holmes had gotten ahold of the guest list and it had exploded somehow to 250 people. Sherlock tried to protest, but Molly insisted it wasn't worth the fight. The more the merrier.

And now, for Janine, the more the deadlier, she thought wryly.

And yet, everything had gone fine so far, and she felt safer with Greg (and his gun) by her side.

The reception hall looked lovely. Janine had tried to keep the theme subtle and classy: little bee insignias on the place settings, mini jars of honey as favors, and elegant glass jars with live bees inside as bases for the flower centerpieces on each table.

Janine guessed she was the only person in the room who wasn't surprised when the groom swept his wife into an elegant waltz around the dance floor. She couldn't help but feel a little smug; her plan had worked like a charm, and now here they all were just a year later.

She winced as Mr. and Mrs. Holmes sliced into their wedding cake, an anatomical heart, complete with a substance that looked remarkably like blood oozing from its center. Molly giggled when she "hit a vein" and it suddenly spurted out in stronger bursts and she jumped up to kiss Sherlock on the cheek; he was the engineer of the spectacle.

"That's disgusting." Greg made a face in his seat beside her.

"Squeamish, detective?" Janine teased with a shrug. "Heaven knows, I'm not that girl, but if it floats her boat, I think it's wonderful."

"Do you?"

Janine realized that he was asking about more than the unconventional cake.

"Yes, I truly do," she replied firmly.

Greg nodded and they both fell silent.

A few minutes later he pushed back his chair and stood up. For a moment she thought he was going to ask her to dance, but then he said, "I just need the loo, I'll be right back. Stay here."

"Alright."

Janine watched the couples on the dance floor wistfully. Why did she always end up watching at these things? What did those girls have that she didn't? Young women, children, old ladies, all in shades of yellow and black. And…blue?

Janine's eyes met those of the blue clad woman in the middle of the dance floor and the woman froze. Then she whirled and took off through the crowd.

Janine searched the room for Sherlock, but he was laughing and dancing with his mother. She couldn't bring herself to interrupt. Greg showed no sign of coming back from the loo. If she hesitated one more second, the woman would lose her.

Janine took off after her.

Reaching the edge of the ballroom, she disappeared through a door. Once Janine reached it, she saw the fabric of the woman's dress waving in the wind as she broke out into a run across the garden. Kicking off her heels, she took off after her.

The woman began to progressively slow down, probably losing breath, and Janine caught up to her beneath the branches of a large tree. The strong breeze made the leaves sway violently above their heads.

"Why did you kill Tom?" Janine blurted.

The woman turned. Janine didn't recognize her at all. She had obviously dyed blonde hair, was plump, and looked to be in her forties.

The stranger started to laugh. "And why did you follow me? You're even dumber than you look, and that's really saying something."

Looking around the dark garden and realizing they were completely alone and far enough from the hall that nobody would hear her scream, Janine found that she had to agree. She was stupid.

"And maybe next time you crash a wedding, you should make sure to follow the dress code, so you won't stand out like a sore thumb." It wasn't much, but it was the only comeback Janine could think of. In her mind, she was screaming out for Greg, and his name was blocking out all other thoughts.

It was no surprise when the woman pulled out a gun and pointed it at her chest, so Janine didn't flinch.

But her voice still wobbled with fear as she spoke. "If you're going to kill me, at least tell me why. I deserve that."

"My brother belonged with Molly Hooper. She broke his heart. For Sherlock Holmes. Because _you_ couldn't hold him. If he'd just stayed with you…you deserve each other…demons. That's what you are. If you'd just stayed with him..." the woman trailed off and Janine saw the glimmer of insanity in her eyes. And she realized that's what this was. And why she'd die. Over the delusions of a mad woman.

"You killed your own brother?" she asked, stalling.

"I put an end to his suffering. It was an act of mercy. He couldn't live without Molly Hooper. And the pain of her marrying someone else…it was killing him anyway."

Janine shook her head and slowly, very slowly stepped backwards. "Molly didn't know. He…he never told her."

"No, well he wouldn't. My brother was selfless. Unlike you. Selling your stories to the papers like the slut that you are." There was so much hate in the woman's eyes and it was hard for Janine to understand how a total stranger could detest her so. But there was no logic in mental illness. No logic in this. And yet, what could she do but try to reason with her attacker?

"Sherlock broke up with _me_. The engagement was never real. He was just using me to get to my boss. It wasn't my fault. I couldn't have stayed with him if I wanted to…he…he never loved me," Janine pleaded. "There was nothing I could do."

"Liar!" Tom's sister shouted. "I read the papers. He was infatuated with you. 'Seven times a night.' And you ended it. Freeing him up and pulling Molly away from Tom."

"No…no, the papers." Janine shook her head. "That wasn't real. I just made it up all up. It was just stories." Janine realized she'd started to cry. She was so afraid.

"And now that's all you'll be. Just a story. Janine Hanigan."

"No, no, please d-"

The air erupted with the sound of a gunshot.

* * *

_This is the last full length chapter, but there will be a short epilogue posted soon to wrap up loose ends. _

_Thank you so much for all of your lovely reviews!-Listrant_


	8. Chapter 8: Epilogue

"Janine!"

It was only when she heard Greg calling her name that Janine realized it was the madwoman and not herself that was shot.

She turned around and Greg hugged her tight.

She sucked in his scent like it was her life force.

* * *

There was only one place the Holmes' could go for their honeymoon.

Molly sighed as she stepped into the warm water and slid down, her legs entangling with those of her new husband who was waiting for her in the swirling water of the tub.

"Oh, come on," Sherlock complained with his eyes on the bathing suit she wore, "I got to see more than that when we _weren't_ married."

"I bought this especially for this trip and I refuse to have it sit in my suitcase the whole time. Since it's freezing outside, this'll have to do."

Sherlock sighed.

They sat in contented silence for a few moments, their fingers threading through the water.

"Truth or dare, Mrs. Holmes?" Sherlock finally asked, one brow arched teasingly.

There was no hesitation. "Truth."

"Was our wedding everything you hoped it would be? The…mayhem didn't ruin it for you?"

Molly laughed. "It wouldn't be our life without it. I'm sorry about Tom and his sister…I knew she was off, but I never imagined…but I'm glad Janine is ok and won't have to be afraid anymore. Our wedding was perfect."

"Good."

"Truth or dare, Mr. Holmes?" Molly asked.

"Truth."

"Could I have taken that bee stinger out by myself?"

Sherlock smirked. "Definitely."

Molly splashed him with water. "You letch!"

"Well, since I already have that reputation…" Sherlock reached over and deftly untied the string holding his wife's bikini top up.

Molly slid over into his lap and rocked against him as they kissed.

It wasn't long before the bikini bottom was floating on the top of the water along with the top.

* * *

The little girl's eyes lit up when she peeked around her mother's legs to find the Holmes' on her front doorstep.

She gave them each a hug in turn.

Then Ellie's fingers found Molly's left hand.

And her eyes stared down in wonder at the shiny diamond rings.

* * *

_Alright! That's a wrap! Couple of things:_

_-Thank you so much to everyone who left reviews for me! You're all wonderful and I love you!_

_-I'm highly considering writing a sequel about Janine and Greg! Soooo...if that's a story you'd be interested in reading, please let me know in the comments! _


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